Last ride of SF’s DeLorean hovercraft

Matt Riese has spent his adult life creating a lawnmower-powered replica of Doc Brown’s unlikely time machine from 'Back to the Future.' Why? Well, therein lies a tale.

The hovercraft wouldn’t start. The thrust engine at the rear was struggling to idle, even after a few generous sprays of starter fluid, and Matt Riese was perplexed.

It was a warm September morning at Pier 52, just across the street from the shiny new Chase Center, bustling with activity days before its grand opening. Riese was readying his craft for a test of the new thrust engine — the last ride on the bay he planned to take before putting the craft up for auction. Having spent more than a decade laboring over it, he was ready to let it go. He’d painted a red “For Sale” sign on the rear fan duct.

A bevy of futuristic vehicles cruised around us. Commuters on electric scooters and battery-powered bikes whirred along Terry A Francois Boulevard, military helicopters soared overhead and a pair of kayakers paddled up in boats that fold into the size of a knapsack. None of them drew any onlookers.

But several passersby pulled their cars over, parked their bikes or paused their morning jogs for a look at Riese’s creation: a DeLorean replica modeled after Doc Brown’s unlikely time machine from the “Back to the Future” films. Everyone knows exactly where it comes from and what it represents, and they’ll cross the street for a closer look. The flying DeLorean tickles something deep in our pop culture-soaked imaginations.

“How fast does it go?” asked a man in bluejeans, boots and a bright construction vest who’d beelined over.

Matt Riese closes the door on his DeLorean hovercraft for transport in S.F.

Matt Riese closes the door on his DeLorean hovercraft for transport in S.F.

Photo: Paul Kuroda / Special To The Chronicle

Photo: Paul Kuroda / Special To The Chronicle

Image
1of/8

Caption

Close

Image 1 of 8

Matt Riese closes the door on his DeLorean hovercraft for transport in S.F.

Matt Riese closes the door on his DeLorean hovercraft for transport in S.F.

Photo: Paul Kuroda / Special To The Chronicle

Inside San Francisco's 'Back to the Future' DeLorean hovercraft replica

1 / 8

Back to Gallery

The craft doesn’t actually fly. On good days, it hovers 6 to 8 inches above land or water and slides around on a cushion of air pushed into an inflated vinyl skirt by a lawnmower engine set in the DeLorean’s hood. The 23-horsepower thrust engine at the rear powers a large fan for propulsion; a steering wheel in the cockpit is wired to three plastic rudders on the rear fan. But it looks the part. “Literally, where you’re going you don’t need roads!” quipped an onlooker holding a Starbucks cup.

The craft makes for a great social media highlight. But for Riese, a slight 35-year-old with dark eyes and dark hair who grew up in Santa Rosa and describes himself as introverted, it’s a fusion of his identity and ideals. The craft is a source of personal confidence and inspiration, a creative outlet and a teaching mechanism for focus and patience. It has afforded him entree with rock stars, guest spots on cable television shows and paid gigs at music festivals up and down the West Coast.

Most recently, it caught the attention of talk show host and car nut Jay Leno, who featured Riese and his ride on the CNBC series “Jay Leno’s Garage.” (The episode aired Sept. 11.) It has also served as an object for Riese to express his spiritual connection to San Francisco’s DIY culture.

“It’s been really cool to be in that scene and feel like I’m contributing to make San Francisco an interesting place,” he says. “I want this kind of thing to be happening — anywhere in the world, really, but particularly here.”

Now, with the craft heading to the auction block, Riese has to move on. But first, back at Pier 52, he had to get the thrust engine to cooperate.

Running an impromptu diagnostic, he examined each mechanism and point of connection on the rear engine and talked through the morning’s sequence of events. He called his father, a former auto mechanic in Santa Rosa. If Riese couldn’t figure it out, he’d have to load the rig back on his trailer and drive it home, the morning wasted.

After a long half hour, Riese deduced the problem: He’d forgotten to reconnect the fuel line after filling the gas tank earlier that morning. He hooked up the fuel system and reached for the ignition key in the dashboard.

“All right,” he warned, “it’s about to get loud.”

Daivon Wilson and another admirer check out Matt Riese’s DeLorean hovercraft near Pier 52 in S.F.

(Paul Kuroda / Special To The Chronicle | San Francisco Chronicle)

The hovercraft is made from styrofoam, wood and fiberglass, with aluminum enforcements. It has fake flying-time-machine sideways-tires, a faux DMC grill and other fanciful flourishes. It’s not a true stainless steel DeLorean frame but a “sculpture” that Riese hand-carved to scale. More than the materials, it’s the product of a rigorous, relentless process of trial and error.

Riding in it is 80 percent exhilaration — even at just 20 mph, the sensation is that you’re blazing across the water — and 20 percent apprehension. Without brakes, every turn is a drift. A hard turn at speed sends the craft into a 360-degree spin. Rumbles from the thrust engine would be deafening without ear muffs, but they add to the thrill. As a passenger, it’s hard not to smile: You’re driving in a car on water.

The genesis came in 2007 when Riese, two years out of college, was working construction in San Mateo County. “Building stuff all day and learning how to use tools gave me confidence to try to build something of my own,” he says. A hovercraft, he thought, would make a killer practical-effect prop in a surreal film he wanted to make, or it could be the linchpin of a publicity stunt for a friend’s band.

“The whole idea was to build this and get the band famous by hovering on TV at McCovey Cove during a Giants game,” Riese says. (A lifelong fan, Riese points out that his first name comes from Saint Matthew, his middle name is Francis, and his last name is German for “giant”: “My name basically means San Francisco Giant.”)

After four months, he’d produced a rough prototype. It hovered, but it wouldn’t have survived a run on salt water. “That was the error part of the trial and error,” Riese says. He budgeted four more months to get it seaworthy. “But instead it took four years.”

Riese is not a mechanic. He doesn’t have an engineering degree. He studied philosophy at UC Santa Cruz and pursued a master’s degree in political science at San Francisco State — working on the craft in his Sunset District garage — before punting on his thesis. He thought he might want to work on a political campaign or jump into academia. “But after studying it and getting into being an artist, that kind of adversarial nature of politics turned me off,” Riese says. “I’d rather do something that celebrates life, like this.”

To pay the bills, he has worked as a crab fisherman, remodeled houses, driven Ubers and cut his spending to the bone. Between 2008 and 2012, he says, “I was living as cheaply as possible and putting everything into this. I’m famous in my friends for having a water bottle with rum in it that I take to bars so I don’t have to pay for anything.”

Dealing with engine issues — that was Riese’s 2012. The craft’s maiden voyage came that summer in McCovey Cove, leading up to the Giants’ World Series run. At the top of the fourth inning against Denver, the TV cameras zoomed in on a man in a jacket and hologram cap behind the wheel of a DeLorean coasting on the bay just outside the ballpark. “Yeah, I wanna get one of those,” Duane Kuiper said on the broadcast. YouTube clips of the cruise drew more than a million views.

But just as Riese was primed for his media moment, the hovercraft was hamstrung by engine failure. A year later, he’d buy brand-new engines, a move he wished he’d made sooner. “If it had been reliable from the beginning, I could have moved into a career as an artist or doing art-type projects,” Riese says. Instead, when interest was at its peak, he was in the garage trying to make it run.

The intervening years have been a mix of highs and lows, media appearances, trips to Home Depot and countless hours in the workshop with a headlamp. “There are times you hit him up for a hike and it’s like, no, it’s a hovercraft weekend for Matt,” says Annette Mullaney, a close friend. He took it to the Symbiosis Gathering (“the most fun I’ve ever had”) and to Burning Man, though he didn’t drive it on the playa. “A car without brakes in a crowd of people probably isn’t a good idea,” Riese says. In artist communities around California, Riese is known simply as "hovercraft guy."

Sometimes it would break down at the worst moments, like when a TV shoot was scheduled. “It’s hard when that happens because I felt like it’s wrapped up with my identity, and if it’s failing then I’m failing,” Riese says.

“It’s a real roller coaster,” says Katrin Welch, Riese’s girlfriend. The two started dating about a year ago, and the hovercraft’s needs have been fully present. Welch views the project as a reflection of Riese’s character. “Honestly, the qualities of commitment and patience and willingness to work through difficult or uncertain moments — when I was thinking about whether to date him or not, I was like, those are the qualities of someone who can hang in a long-term relationship.”

Matt Riese drives his Delorean hovercraft in SF Bay on Wednesday, Sept. 4, 2019, in San Francisco, Calif. (Paul Kuroda / Special To The Chronicle | San Francisco Chronicle)

Related

By 2017, Riese had decided to sell it. The cycle of fun had become a dizzying whirlwind. People Riese didn’t know would recount experiences he didn’t remember.

“I’d had so many fun times that I couldn’t keep track of them all,” Riese says. “It wasn’t getting less fun, but I was like, maybe I don’t need to do this forever.”

A Bitcoin baron offered eight Bitcoins, the equivalent of about $20,000. But when it came time to approve the sale, Riese broke down and pulled out. “I started crying. I couldn’t let it go,” he says. “I had this deep attachment to it that I didn’t even realize.”

Four months later, the cryptocurrency skyrocketed in value, and those eight Bitcoins would have been worth $200,000. “That was probably the biggest mistake of my life,” Riese says.

Then again, Riese couldn’t have predicted that, two years later, Jay Leno would come calling to feature the hovercraft on his TV show, which reaches millions of viewers. At one moment in the episode, Leno howls with excitement while Riese steers the craft through a harbor in Long Beach. “I thought for sure we’d sink like a stone when we got out here,” Leno says. “But it’s pretty amazing.”

Riese towed the craft down for the Leno shoot, accompanied by his father and Mullaney. The whole ride down Interstate 5, other motorists honked, waved and took pictures. “You’re making people’s days,” Mullaney says. “It’s like being a celebrity but without all the downsides — like being a puppy. Everywhere you go with this thing, you’re spreading joy and glitter.”

Hearing stories about the hovercraft, it starts to sound like the kind of magic trick we all wish we had in our back pocket. It’s Riese’s perfect foil, an instant bridge across the natural void that separates us from one another. And it’s impossible not to look at. After all, if you’re going to build a hovercraft, why not do it with some style?

“Definitely one of the coolest things about the hovercraft has been having the confidence to talk to new people,” Riese says. “If somebody is interesting and creative and successful, I have this thing that I can bring to the table that people really want to talk about.”

The DeLorean doesn't actually fly. It hovers 6 to 8 inches above land or water, powered by a lawnmower engine in the hood.

(Paul Kuroda / Special To The Chronicle | San Francisco Chronicle)

Talking to Riese, a practicing Buddhist, about his relationship with the hovercraft reminded me of a line from Robert Pirsig’s “Zen and the Art of Motorcycle Maintenance”: “The real cycle you’re working on is a cycle called yourself.”

Having devoted a decade of his 20s and 30s to the craft, it is as complete as Riese is going to make it, and it’s time to move on. He’s planning to auction it online within a month. He’s hoping for $50,000.

“I’m still in debt from building it, so it’d be nice to recoup some of that,” he says. “I’m about to turn 36 and haven’t had a normal job or a career. Eventually I’m going to have to do something about that.”

He’s thinking of taking coding courses and going into software engineering. But he also has rough schematics on his hard drive at home of a design for a flying Batmobile (the 1989 Tim Burton model, obviously).

Mullaney, Riese’s friend, is somewhere on the other side of the San Francisco seesaw. She just quit her job as a software engineer to focus full time on a burgeoning career in stand-up comedy. She moved to San Francisco from the Midwest a decade ago, and watching Riese’s journey up close evokes her romantic impressions of the city.

“Knowing that there’s someone in San Francisco making a DeLorean hovercraft in his garage — that’s the San Francisco I wanted to move to,” Mullaney says. “That’s powerful. That’s what creates the culture and lifeblood of a city and makes it more than just a place to live.”